


A Hole In You And Me (That Pulls Us Together)

by hunters_retreat



Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural, Supernatural/Criminal Minds
Genre: Crossover, December Drabble Days, Dominant Dean, Hallucifer, Incest, M/M, Submissive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunters_retreat/pseuds/hunters_retreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wall between Sam's conscious mind and his memories of hell has fallen.  Everything is a danger and only Dean knows how to keep Sam from falling apart.  The question is, does he trust himself to do what is right for Sam, or will his own memories of hell keep him from acting?  There is no easy answer for Dean, especially as a new hunt comes up and Dean's dreams warn him of another problem on the rise; the FBI's best and brightest are looking for a serial killer and one of them has a vendetta against the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for the bigbang_mixup challenge. A soundtrack was made, a story was then written for it, and then art followed. So please listen to the [soudtrack as you read! One of the songs isn't working on the list so please find it ](http://www.mediafire.com/?q4zq54wf1ttecls)[ here](http://www.mediafire.com/?w66r3o09rqfecue) Also check out the art at the [Master Art Link](http://miki-moo.livejournal.com/34143.html)
> 
> As a heads up, I tried to write one scene per song. It was a fun challenge :P Also... the quotes at the beginning of each chapter were spoke by one character through out the various seasons of Criminal Minds. I love that part of the show so I wanted to keep it in the story somehow.

 

 

 

  
   

 

 

 

**_“I have seen children successfully surmount the effects of an evil inheritance.  That is due to purity being an inherent attribute of the soul.”_ **

  * **_Ghandi_**



The dark lines of the road lay out ahead of him lonely and long; a world unknown and terrifying no matter that it was supposed to be a new start, a safe start.  The bus smelled of stagnation and the stale, unclean masses and the young man tried not to make eye contact with another youth who was staring around him as if the strangers on the vehicle were the worst the world could throw at him.  The young man knew better.  He knew what was out there, in the dark with the night pressing around them.  He leaned back in his seat and felt the press of a gun at the base of his back.  It would have been safer to keep a knife on him instead but he’d always hated knife work.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, grateful that the world he was heading for would never require him to work a knife in close range, or to know how to use a crossbow or shot gun.  It would never require him to lay salt lines or memorize Latin rituals that even old world priests felt were too arcane to learn. 

College was his new beginning, his only hope at pulling himself out of his family’s legacy of darkness, death, and blood.  His backpack was filled with everything he owned, a small duffle compared to what others would bring, he knew, but the life of a hunter’s son didn’t come with possessions and too often they were running out the back door to avoid the cops or slipping out before the bill was due.  He had cash stashed in his pack and a bank account his father knew nothing about.  His father only had himself to blame really.  If his father hadn’t taught him how to hustle and steal and keep secrets he’d never have been able to hide the bank account or the PO Boxes where he’d been slowly storing away the important things in his life.

There were few people he could turn to anymore in need.  Singer.  Elkins.  Winchester was probably off the list because of his own sons even if he had said he owned him.  If he needed to call in a favor he didn’t want anyone to talk to his father and he bet Winchester would do it behind his back no matter what promises he made.  He’d hunted with the others over the last two years, once his father deemed him old enough to meet the wide world of hunters after his sixteenth birthday. 

He was turning his back on all that now though.  He was adrift in the world, with nothing but the pack on his back, the things he’d been able to steal away to PO Boxes, and a small list of names he could call in need.  His father wasn’t one of them.  No matter that he’d never wanted to be a hunter, no matter than he’d never hidden his desire to go to school and be something else, his father had still looked at him like he’d just confessed to being a shapeshifter when he told him about college.  He never expected his father to support his decision, but he hadn’t anticipated the full vehemence of his reaction.  He knew he looked a mess; a lanky kid who hadn’t grown into his height yet with a black eye and fat lip but he had a week before school started and he was a fast healer.  By the time school started he’d be healed enough that no one would know.

The bus lurched to a halt and he looked out the window.  Another rest stop.  He grabbed his pack and moved off the bus.  He hit the vending machines first to make sure he got the best snacks that were left, then hit the bathrooms, washing away a little of the grime of travel before he had to get back on the bus again.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror for a few minutes as he dried his face with the harsh paper towels.  It wasn’t the face of a hunter, not anymore.  He was going to make something more of himself than that; create a new family legacy that wasn’t covered in vampire teeth and his brother’s blood. 

He was going to make the world a better place, but not from the monsters his father saw in every dark shadow.  He was going to make it safe from the monsters in the light, the men and women who had enough darkness in their hearts to hurt the innocent and unprotected.  He was going to protect the world from men like his father.

  


**_“Fairytales do not tell children dragons exist.  Children already know that dragons exist.  Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.”_**

  * **_G.K. Chesterton_**



Dean jerked awake in bed, heart pounding as his eyes searched out the darkened room.  The hum of the air conditioner filled the night and nothing moved in the quiet of the room; nothing, not even his brother who should have been asleep on the bed three feet away from him.  Dean sat up and pushed the lingering nightmare from his mind, focusing on the room.  He heard the sound of water running and looked over his shoulder to see the light shining under the bathroom door.  He let out a deep breath, relief flooding him for a moment.

He should lie back down and try to get some sleep, but now that Dean was awake and knew Sam was in the next room he couldn’t push the dreams back anymore.  He knew what it meant even if he didn’t want to recognize it. 

Over the years Dean had become accustomed to a dark future hanging over his head.  His life was violent and he’d been surrounded by nothing but impoverished communities and rough streets since just after his fifth birthday when his father decided that becoming a hunter was the only way to protect his family.  Dean never mentioned it to anyone – hell he wasn’t sure what it meant himself – but over time his dreams had started to warn him when the heavy shit was coming their way.  Not that he’d needed it when hell was looming in the future, but when Eve was dead and the world seemed quiet?  He had no idea what to make of it.

He’d only dreamed of law enforcement officers once before.  Of all the things that had been set upon them, humans rarely made their way into his dreams of portent.  Victor Hendricksen had featured in them for a time, but in the end Dean had learned that it was the role Hendricksen played in their lives and not the actual man himself who had been important.  Now though, the FBI was back in his head and Dean had no idea why.

They were between hunts and the only major concern on Dean’s mind was helping Sam deal with hell.  The wall that Death had constructed between Sam’s memories of hell and his conscious mind was down and Sam was anything but fine, but he was functioning.  It was better than Dean had been able to hope for.  His plans for the rest of the week involved sleeping, eating at slightly-better-than-usual roadside diners so Sam could eat that rabbit stuff he called food, and putting some miles on his baby just to see Sam’s face light up when they stopped in Idaho at his favorite restaurant.

It was Dean’s favorite as well, a fact that neither brother ever commented on.  It wasn’t that the food was good – which it was – but rather the shared memories of a summer spent in an apartment down the block.  Dean had picked up work there as a cook and Sam used to come in at lunch time, a stack of books to read – some for the summer reading required by the last school, though why Sam bothered when they wouldn’t be in the same school Dean never knew, and some for Dad – as he waited in the air conditioned booth for Dean to finish his shift and eat with him.  Sometimes they’d share a shake and sometimes it would be a couple pieces of pie.  Their Dad had picked up a nasty creature to hunt that summer and when he hadn’t killed it immediately, he hadn’t wanted to lead it back to his boys so their contact was entirely by phone.  It took two months for their dad to kill the creature and then he’d come back just in time to turn around when Bobby had a friend who needed help.  Dad had been home for two days, slept through them both, before he got the call and was on the road again, leaving a smoky wad of cash in his wake. 

Dean didn’t mention their destination to Sam and he didn’t think his brother knew where they were headed yet.  Sam might bitch and moan about their rambling direction sometimes but Dean knew that his brother liked the feel of the road underneath them as well.  The impala had always been home to Sam and Dean but it had become even more so since Sam had come back from Stanford.  Sam slept better crammed into the front seat of the impala than he did in any hotel bed.

The water in the bathroom shut off and Dean watched as Sam walked out of the room; the small night light in the bathroom behind him throwing Sam’s profile into relief.  He paused, looking at Dean for a minute before he headed back to his bed.

“Alright, Sammy?”  He didn’t mean to ask but Sam hadn’t been sleeping more than a few hours a night and it worried him.

“Yeah.  Just … needed a drink of water.”

Sam crawled back into bed, forgoing blankets and sheets in the night’s heat.  The air conditioner had seen better days so even with it running the room was too hot.   They didn’t dare open the windows to try to catch the cooler night breeze though in case Sam woke screaming from another nightmare.  Dean watched Sam shuffle around in the bed for a minute before Sam sat up and reached down to tug his tee shirt off.  Dean could see the way Sam’s muscles moved under the soft light, hard planes and sleep-warm skin and scars that Dean knew better than his own post-hell body.  Sam had come back up with all his marks intact at least.

Dean wet his lips, swallowing against a dry throat.  Nightmares weren’t what made Dean Winchester afraid to sleep some nights.  Some nights it was the thought of a hard body pressed against his, soft lips and gun-calloused hands and the murmur of love.  Some nights it was the words Aleister had teased into his brain, the ones that worked their way deep, planted roots and infected his head – his heart – and that he’d never been able to weed out.

Some nights, Dean woke up and needed a drink of water just to remind himself that his throat wasn’t scorched through.  He needed to feel the soft press of carpet under his feet and the cool metal of the taps to remember who he was.  He needed to remember that he was Sam’s brother and that the feel of his hands and lips were just images Aleister had whispered in his ear about the good things Dean could have if he’d just pick up the knife.

“Get some sleep.  We’ve got an early start tomorrow,” Dean said, lying back as he turned on his side to watch Sam.

“Early?” Dean didn’t answer the question and Sam smirked like he knew Dean had something in mind even if he didn’t know what it was.  It was a nice change from the last few years; Sam just trusting in Dean to get them where they needed to be.  Dean trusting Sam to talk about what he was going through.

It was good tonight, better than most, and Dean let himself fall back asleep to the slow, relaxed breathing of his brother and the image of Sam’s smile in his head.

  


**_“The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other.”_ **

  * **_Mario Puzo_**



Sam stared down at the newspaper clippings, the images spinning in his mind as he tried to keep clear of the illusions in his head.  Some days, there was a trick to it and he knew if he could just think fast enough he’d see what it was.  Other days, nothing helped except the press of Dean’s fingers against the back of Sam’s neck.  He hated being so dependent on Dean.  He hated knowing that Dean enjoyed it so much.

Not that Dean liked that Sam was having hallucinations; no, Dean would be happy if that never happened again.  Dean had always liked it when Sam needed him though.  Sam couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t hung off his brother’s world like a ship sailing off the edge of a map.  Dean had always been the one to get Sam, the legend to understanding his needs and his way of thinking and Sam had always considered himself Dean’s moral compass so it worked when they were younger.  That was before everything else though, before Sam was a burden on his brother and a liability on the hunt.

He knew better than to voice that thought though and instead he did his best to rationalize the things he saw that he knew couldn’t be there.  Like Lucifer or bleeding bodies or Dean shooting him because he was one of the monsters now.

“So what have we got, Sam?”

Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat and took a deep breath.  He wasn’t seeing anything at the moment and it scared him that he was losing his grip on reality because of the thought of it.  As it always had, being scared pissed him off and Sam channeled his fear into something more productive.  It was a good thing Dean found pleasure in being an annoying big brother because it gave Sam a way to vent his frustrations and anger without losing control.

“Five deaths so far; all men but other than that there was no noticeable similarity except that each one of them was ripped apart.  The police have a different suspect in custody for each murder.”

“And this is our kind of gig?”

“There was a full moon each night.”

“You’re thinking werewolf?”

“Maybe a pack.  There’s no way a normal person could have ripped the bodies apart.  It’s worth looking into.  Not like we have anything else to tackle right now.”

Dean’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel for a moment before he let loose and Sam understood.  It felt like something was coming and they didn’t know what to be looking for.  They’d kept their heads down as much as they could after Eve and then Sam’s wall had fallen and they were just trying to keep him sane.  Something was out there, waiting though, some sense of foreboding that seemed to have infected the both of them.   

Sam closed his eyes, leaning his head back.  “There might be some trouble when we get there though.  They were calling in the FBI.”

“Why?”  There was something in Dean’s voice and Sam looked back to his brother, noting the way his lips were turned down in profile.  Dean never really cared who was working a case so long as it didn’t disrupt their cover.  Since they usually went with the FBI cover it meant switching to something new but that didn’t account for Dean’s furrowed brow. 

“He’s worried about taking a crazy man into an FBI laden scene,” a voice from the back seat called out.  Sam stiffened, trying not to look in the back seat where Lucifer was sitting.  Where Lucifer wasn’t sitting.

“All the scenes had feathers left behind,” Sam said, ignoring Lucifer.  “The M.E.’s report questioned what type of feathers they were, saying he wasn’t familiar with it and he’s a bird enthusiast.  The lead officer called in the FBI because he thinks it might be a signature of a serial killer, even though-”

“You make me all tingly when you talk about serial killers, Sam,” Lucifer said with a smile. 

“- they are still questioning the five suspects already in custody,” Sam finished.

“Great.  Just what we need is trouble with the feds right now.”

The feds weren’t the problem and Sam knew it.  Ever since Henderiksen had died they’d both been weary of the FBI.  It was a lot easier to think of them as incompetent wastes of uniformed space before the agent had proven exactly what sort of man he was.  He would have made a hell of an ally if he’d lived.  Now, they tried to avoid it because the memory of Henderiksen was too much like the others; family, friends, and allies fallen on the wayside as Sam and Dean continued the good fight.

“You do love the good fight, don’t you Sammy?”

Lucifer whispered behind him and Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat.  He had no way to stop Lucifer’s words, no way to keep the other memories at bay.  He could remember watching his brother before he’d had his soul.  He could remember the words Lucifer used to whisper in his ear and how his soulless self had contemplated taking those promises out on Dean.  He could remember watching Dean sleep and knowing he could have him, that he could pin him and take him no matter that Dean would struggle against him.  He could remember stripping his cock to the image, knowing that when the moment was right and the anticipation had built up enough that he could truly enjoy it, he would take his brother. 

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Lucifer purred in his ear.  “You can lie to me all you want, but without a soul you knew what you wanted and you were about to take it.  You can’t deny what you wanted Sam.  You can’t deny the ache you feel whenever you see him now.”

“Sam?”

Sam looked over at Dean and realized he’d missed something.  “What?”

“I asked if there was any lore connecting feathers to the full moon.”

“Nothing yet but I wasn’t able to do a lot of research before we took off.  I’ll see what I can find out when we stop tonight.”

“Uh hu.  He’s here, isn’t he?”

Sam frowned, his lips thinning into a white line and he didn’t bother answering.  He could see Dean’s concern and he couldn’t say anything, not with the thoughts of his soulless self tangling with his present life. 

“Sam?” 

“Yeah, Dean.”

“It’s just you and me, alright?  Whatever he’s saying, you know he lies.”

Sam closed his eyes because he didn’t know that.  In fact, he’d found Lucifer was the most honest creature he’d ever met. 

Lucifer smiled from his seat as he sat back, hands behind his neck.  “Just you and Dean?  Oh, Sammy, if only your brother knew.”

  


**_“I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.”_ **

  * **_Francoise Sagan_**



“I don’t see it, Sam.”  Dean said as they sat at the bar nursing their beers.  “Bad music, yuppy crowd.  I’m not sensing ‘den of wild animals’ here.”

Sam frowned and Dean smiled slightly, pleased with himself.  As long as Sam was looking at him like that, he wasn’t off the ranch playing with Lucifer. 

Dean had barely woken from his own nightmare of police sirens and Ron’s bloody body this morning when Sam had screamed out his name and jolted awake himself, flying up from the bed and pacing the room for a few minutes before he’d realized Dean was awake. 

Dean knew what sort of sounds his brother had been making in his sleep and he knew the wild, lustful look in Sam’s eyes as they trailed down Dean’s naked chest and then back to settle on his lips.  Dean hadn’t been able to say anything, his brotherly concern turned to desire as he watched Sam’s cock harden against the line of his boxer briefs. 

He could hear Aleister’s voice in the back of his head, soft and teasing as he carved Dean’s back, _would he let you, Dean?  Would you be gentle with your little brother?  Would you open him up soft and sweet, kiss your way up that strong spine before you sink your cock into him?  Or would you just take him?  Force your way in because you know he can take the pain, know you both learned to turn it into something good.  You ever think about it, Dean?  Ever think about little Sammy and his cock and that pretty girlfriend of his?  Think of him buried inside her, but burning up inside with how much he wanted his big brother?_

In the end, Sam had closed the bathroom door between them and Dean fell back onto the bed, doing his best to shut his head the fuck up.  It’d been a few years since his memories of hell had come back so strongly and he knew it was sympathy for Sam that was causing them, but that didn’t make it easier to push away the urges that came with the memories though. 

Dean had never – before hell – felt anything other than brotherly for Sam.  He’d taken care of Sam, loved him and protected him as best as he could.  Aleister had twisted his love though until it was something dark and damning, making Dean crazy with it.  The desire didn’t go away with the knowledge of what Aleister had done though.  It didn’t mean Dean wasn’t beginning to think that maybe Lucifer had picked up their bond and the weakness they had for one another and done the same damn thing with Sam.

After their attempts to go back to sleep, lying in bed pretending they didn’t notice the other was doing the same, they decided to spend the day apart, researching and interviewing and repressing whatever the hell was happening between them.  Back together again though, they were checking out the only lead they had.

“The suspects all came to this bar the week before the killings happened.  It’s the only thing I could find that linked them so far.”

“I know, Sam, but I’m telling you, I don’t think anything is happening here tonight.”

Sam looked at him for a second, eyes intense with the desire to question him but he didn’t.  Dean didn’t mean to push it but he knew nothing was going to happen tonight.  He knew because that same sense that gave him the dreams told him he was barking up the wrong tree tonight.

“Let’s see what we can find out from the locals.  Maybe they can tell us something then we can head back.  I could use a good night’s sleep.”

Dean didn’t call Sam on the sleep comment because they both knew he wouldn’t get enough.  Neither of them would, but maybe if they stopped at the store, a bottle of Jack might help them along the way.  He didn’t mention it, but then Sam was walking away, turning to find people to talk to and Dean did the same.  He had a feeling Sam had the same idea anyway.

He didn’t get much information out of the people he was talking to, though he didn’t know if it was that they didn’t know anything or if he was just too preoccupied with Sam to see through their lies.  A couple hours later and Dean was sure they’d talked to all the locals so they headed out of the bar and back to the motel.

“Be back in a few, Sammy,” Dean said as he threw Sam the motel room key.  Sam snatched them out of the air and Dean didn’t tell him where he was going, just headed across the parking lot towards the liquor store half a block down the street.

He got a bottle of Jack and Jim just in case and headed back to the room.  It was still dark when Dean opened the door and nearly dropped the little brown bag when Sam pulled Dean’s own colt on him.  “Sam?”

Sam didn’t answer, but his eyes were darting around the room and back to Dean before moving away again.  It wasn’t a long leap of faith to Lucifer.  It had been getting worse lately, Sam dropping off in the middle of conversations for minutes at a time before starting back up as if he didn’t realize the time lapse.

“Sammy?  What’s going on?” Dean asked as he set his bag on the table by the door, moving slowly and sure to keep his hands up. 

Sam looked back at Dean but he seemed unable to keep his focus.  “Something was here, Dean.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.  At first I heard something.  I thought,” he paused, looking guiltily at Dean.  “I thought it was just a hallucination.  He… Lucifer messes with my head sometimes so I thought he was just playing with me again.  It was here though, Dean.  Look.”

Sam reached behind himself onto the bed and grabbed something, holding his palm out for Dean to see.  There was nothing in his palm.  “It was here and I almost missed it because of Lucifer.”

Dean swallowed against the lump in his throat.  “There’s nothing there,” he admitted.  He’d feel ashamed of the weakness in his voice if he wasn’t so caught up in the fear and pain in his brother’s eyes as his word hit.

“The feather…” Sam looked down at his hand and Dean could see the visible jerk of his body as he realized there was nothing in his hand.  Tears filled Sam’s eyes and Dean was moving before he realized what he was doing, pulling the gun from Sam’s other hand and grabbing Sam’s neck with the other, bending his forehead down to rest against Dean’s. 

“We will get you through this, Sammy.”

Sam’s voice caught in a sob and Dean tightened his grip on his brother’s neck, feeling the pull of curls twined around his fingers. 

“Dean, it’s like you said.  Some things just don’t wash clean and you were right.  I’m just … I’m just putting you in danger by being here.”

Dean pulled back, not letting go of Sam, but forcing eye contact.  “I never said that Sam.”

“In the car yesterday, right before you went into that rest stop.”

“Does that sound like something I’d say?  After everything we’ve been through, would I ever give up on you like that?”

“You … you had a good life with … I was gone and you were happy and … you don’t need-”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as Dean pushed up into his brother, crushing his lips to Sam’s.  Sam’s lips were soft and warm and so damn pliant under Dean’s attention.  Sam’s whole body was stilled in that one moment but when Dean brushed his tongue over Sam’s lips, his brother moaned, opening to him.  Dean knew he should back off, knew that he was taking advantage of Sam’s vulnerability but he could never give up on Sam and his brother had no fucking clue just how deep Dean’s need for him was. 

He pulled back violently, making Sam stumble as he tried to regain his balance without Dean to hold him there.  Dean turned away and put the gun on the table, suddenly glad that there was a fresh bottle to uncap tonight.  He looked back at Sam and took a deep breath to still his racing heart.  Sam looked debauched and all Dean had done was kiss him.  He wanted to see what Sam would look like, all strung out and writhing on his cock but he figured he’d done enough damage to their relationship for one night. 

“Whatever else you think is happening Sammy, you belong to me.  Not Lucifer, not even yourself.  When you decided to fly over that coo coo’s nest you made me the sole owner.  Got it?  You know how well I take care of my baby,” he said, watching as Sam’s gaze turned to the door and to the impala that they both knew was on the other side.  “Not going to let anything happen to you either.”

When he took a seat at the table, he grabbed a bottle from the brown bag and opened it up.  He didn’t bother with a cup, but drank straight from the bottle, steadying himself in the familiar burn.  Sam came forward but instead of taking the seat next to him, he dropped down onto the floor.  Dean wasn’t sure what would happen next but Sam didn’t say anything, just held his hand up for the bottle. 

Sam took it and drank deeper than Dean had before handing it back up.  When he was done, he was sitting between Dean’s spread legs, his shoulder brushing Dean’s inner thigh as he leaned across, pressing his forehead to Dean’s opposite knee.  Dean didn’t know how to take that gesture, but it felt right somehow, with Sam right there, so close he could touch and protect.  He reached his hand out, playing with the soft strands of his brother’s hair and he felt Sam’s shuttered breath.

“Just me, Sammy,” Dean whispered softly, reminding his brother that they were alone. 

“I know,” came Sam’s muffled reply.  He didn’t stop running his fingers through Sam’s hair though.  When Sam got up later – who the fuck knew how long they’d been like that? – he pushed Dean towards his bed before he rummaged through his bag and found the tee shirt he always slept in.  When he disappeared into the bathroom, Dean took a deep breath before he slipped out of his jeans and over shirt.  They’d done this a million nights before, strolling around the room in boxer briefs and tee shirts but this felt different. 

Dean pushed aside that though and crawled into his bed.  When Sam came out of the bathroom he stared at Dean for a minute before heading to his own bed.   That was something else to push down - the disappointment that Sam wasn’t right there at his side again – so Dean flipped the channel on the TV again until he found a B-movie marathon to settle into.  The volume was low so he heard every sound Sam made as he sat at the edge of his bed and watched the movie.  Or pretended to.  It only lasted a few minutes before Sam was out of his bed and sitting on Dean’s.  He wouldn’t look Dean in the eye but he curled up diagonally on the bed, resting his head on Dean’s hip, squirming around to curl up on himself and get comfortable on the too small bed. 

Dean watched him moving, too surprised to say anything.  When Sam finally settled, Dean’s hand automatically made its way to Sam’s hair again.  “Good boy, Sammy,” he whispered.  It was out of nowhere and never in his wildest imagination would he have ever dreamed of saying it, but it was out there and he couldn’t do anything to take that back.

He felt Sam relax against him though and after a few minutes, Sam’s breathing took on the pattern of sleep.  Dean continued to stroke his hair, thinking about the strange turn of events for the night, unable to find his own sleep until the sky was beginning to lighten again.

 

**_“The torture of a bad conscious is the hell of a living soul.”_ **

  * **_Calvin_**



The bar was busy and Chrissy didn’t have a chance to breathe, let alone get a drink for herself.  She appreciated the tips but she had a headache and her feet hurt and she was ready for the night to be over. 

“Corona?”

She smiled as she looked up at Adam, one of her regulars.  He was easy to take care of and always tipped well.  “Coming right up,” she said as she finished poured three shots for the guy waiting down the bar.  She handed them off and took the cash before getting the beer for Adam.  On slower nights, Adam would sit at the bar and keep her smiling with talk about his family and his job.  She wasn’t his favorite customer – he was a family man that went home with someone new whenever he could manage it; Adam was a looker so he managed quite often – but it was a pay check.

She handed the beer to Adam and he handed her his credit card to start a tab.  “Good night?” she asked him.

“Absolutely,” he said, looking over his shoulder to where a petite blond was watching him.  Her smile was almost predatory and it didn’t sit right with Chrissy but she wasn’t about to tell Adam how to run his life.  He moved away from the bar with just a smile and Chrissy moved on to the next customer.      

Throughout the night Adam came back to get drinks for himself and his girl de jour.  She hung on his arm more as the night progressed, pretty and pale and something ethereal about her.  It was like she didn’t belong there and Chrissy didn’t mean in the bar or with Adam but on the whole damn planet.  It didn’t make any sense, but she felt it anyway.  The girl was just a slip of a thing that Adam could easily manhandle but when Adam stood up and made his way to the door with her, Chrissy called out to him anyway.   

Somehow, over the din of the music he heard her and looked back her way.  The girl on his arm stared at Chrissy, eyes full of so much rage that Chrissy’s word caught in her throat.  She looked back at Adam and put a smile on her face, waving him away.  He gave her a curious smile back before heading out the door. 

She yelled at Ivan that she was going on a break and the man looked flustered but she needed to get her shit together and she was a good two hours past due on her scheduled break so she ignored the pissy, “whatever” she got back from him.    

In the back room she rested her head against the shelf and took a deep breath, fumbling for a bottle of water she’d thrown into her bag for the drive home that night.  She cracked the seal and took a long pull off the bottle and let her head fall back before a sigh was dragged out of her.  A few minutes later she was able to get back to work but she couldn’t forget the hate she’d seen in the woman’s eyes any more than she could forget her own cowardice.

In the morning, when she saw the newspaper report, she ran to the bathroom and threw up for twenty minutes.  She didn’t go to work that night; instead she drank herself into a stupor to forget the smile in Adam’s eyes as he’d left with the girl with a murderous rage. 

  


**_“Things are not always as they seem; the first appearance deceives many; the intelligence of a few perceives what has been carefully hidden.”_ **

  * **_Phaedrus_**



“Nice crowd,” Special Agent Derek Morgan said as they stepped into the crowded bar.  Jacksters was owned by a local man who had given up the running of it to a manager three years back.  The crowd was full of ambitious twenty and thirty somethings, looking for a little release from the stress of their work environments or their home lives. 

Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner looked at Morgan and nodded.  “This was the last place the victim can be traced to,” he said, though it was just something to say.  They both knew why they were there.  The last victim had been torn apart, chest ripped open, and a feather had been left covering his eyes.  While the police were questioning the wives of each of the five men that had died, it was just posturing so they could tell the media that they were doing something.  These women didn’t commit the murders, no matter that their husbands had been serial-cheaters. 

Morgan nodded as he looked around the room, taking in the environment.  Morgan was a good man to have at his back.  He had a traumatic past and yet he’d still come out of it as a strong man who wasn’t afraid to be compassionate.  An ex-cop, he was the type of man to run a suspect down on foot instead of running to his car for a chase and he always spoke from the heart.  He smiled more in a single day than Hotch did in weeks, but that in and of itself was a value to the team.  Morgan teased them out of their funks and listened when he couldn’t.  He was also a handsome figure, with bright, soulful brown eyes, dark skin, and a smile that lit people up when they saw it.  He was perfect for getting information from a room full of power hungry women and men.  His looks weren’t why Hotch brought Morgan, but he knew the agent would play the part he needed to in order to get their information.

“See if you can find anything out,” Hotch said as he indicated the bar with his hand.  “I’m going to talk to the bartender.”

Morgan nodded as he started making his way through the room and Hotch headed up to the bar.  The guy behind the counter was tall and built and he was flirting like a pro with the people waiting. 

“What can I do for you tonight?” the bartender asked when he finally came up to stand in front of Hotch.

He pulled his badge out and the guy’s eyes opened wide.  “I need to get information about a man who was in your club last night; Adam Warnex.”

“Adam?  This about what happened to him?” Hotch just nodded and the bartender continued.  “Adam is a regular.  He comes often, leaves with some stranger, and that’s about it.  He usually tried to get his drinks from Chrissy.”

“Where is Chrissy?”

“She called off today.”

“Is that normal for her?”

“Nah, but with what happened to Adam, I figured she was upset.  The guy was constantly flirting with her and on slower nights he always came in and sat in front of her, talking to her.”

“Did you see him in here last night?”

The guy looked at the line of customers behind Hotch and sighed.  “Yeah, I saw him but I never talked to him and I didn’t see him leave.”

It was the most Hotch got for the rest of the night.  Morgan didn’t seem to be doing any better with the locals than Hotch was.  No one wanted to talk about a dead man’s affairs, especially not when he was a family man.  Hotch got a call from Reid with more details of the autopsy and he was ready to call it a night.  Serial killer or not, the music was giving him a headache and they were getting nowhere.

He looked over to Morgan and saw him talking to a small blonde female, with a look that was hard to define.  She was pale and almost …

He moved quickly around the bar to talk to Morgan who was suddenly alone.  “Did you get anything new?”

“No, this place is a bust.  Everyone comes in here to forget about their day.  They don’t want to remember.”

“The girl you were just talking to?”

Morgan smiled.  “Can’t blame a girl for trying, can you?”

Hotch gave him a small smile.  “Let’s head back to the station.  Reid has the autopsy reports.”

They headed towards the door and Hotch paused for a second, catching sight of something in the back corner.  Green eyes met his and there was a moment of recognition before it passed.  Someone he knew, or had known from another time and place, but it didn’t ring any alarms in his head.  Instead, he nodded to the owner of those eyes, and followed Morgan out into the night before he could get into trouble.

  


**_“There is not a righteous man on earth who does what is right and never sins.”_ **

  * **_Ecclesiastes 7:20_**



Sam saw it the moment it happened; the moment Dean went from relaxed and enjoying his beer to the hunter on the prowl.  They were still working the job but they’d agreed to come back to the same bar just in case they heard something new.  Nothing had come up, though to be honest Sam wasn’t paying that much attention.  It was hard to notice anything out of the ordinary when every eye that turned his way was demon-black or every smile had a row of fangs waiting to take a bite.  Sam was good at keeping himself from startling at it, now that he realized it was just a trick, but that didn’t mean it didn’t distract him from other things in the environment.

He kept his focus on Dean then because Dean was right.  He had to trust in his brother, trust the man he knew he was and not the things he feared.  Dean would never hurt him and never leave him.  No matter what else was happening around him, Dean would make sure Sam was alright and he just took a deep breath and trusted in that.

 So when Dean went still and looked at the door, his free hand reaching out to touch Sam in a soothing gesture that Sam was sure he didn’t realize he was making, it was enough to make Sam notice. 

“Dean?”

Dean took a deep breath but all Sam could see when he tried to follow Dean’s line of sight was a couple of suits leaving the bar.  Dean looked around the room, surveying it quickly, and Sam knew his brother was looking for a quick exit.  Not that they didn’t both know where they were, but Dean was assessing their chances of getting out through the crowd.  Whatever he saw, whatever anxiety had gripped him, Dean’s agitated stance became more relaxed.  “Bathroom. Meet me there in five.”

Dean walked away before Sam could say anything.  It was an old tactic from when Sam was too young to really fend for himself.  Dean would take the direct approach close to an exit and Sam would watch to see if anyone was actually watching him.  If the coast was clear, Sam was supposed to follow him a few minutes later.  If not, Sam was supposed to run in the opposite direction.  In the few cases where Dean was caught, Sam had learned he was pretty damn good at getting his brother out of jail.  A little distraction was all Dean generally needed. 

It felt wrong tonight, to have Dean leave his side.  He felt raw without his brother’s presence to soothe him.  It wasn’t that Lucifer was talking to him, or that he was there all the time, though he’d used that tactic for a while too.  Tonight it was the constant barrage of illusions meant to make Sam crazy.  He watched Dean head into the bathroom and then a waitress was coming up to his table. 

“You need anything hon?” she asked.  Behind her, the customer walking past stopped and grinned over her shoulder at Sam.  Before Sam could say anything, fangs flashed in the light and her throat was ripped out.  He gasped, breath shaking because he knew, even before he looked around, that he was the only one seeing it.  He knew because there was no hysteria and no screams, only the rush of his blood in his ears. 

“Hon?” The waitress asked.

Her jerked away, unaware that he’d closed his eyes until she was right there in his space, gently touching his shoulder to get his attention. 

“No, um, no.  I’m good.  Thanks.”

He got up and kept his eyes on the floor, afraid to see what he would find.  It was almost as bad as the night before, looking into his hand to see the feather that wasn’t there.  Almost -  because Sam could feel himself shaking apart now and he knew he was useless to Dean -  but not quite because the look in Dean’s eyes as Sam had given him proof of just how fucked up he was had broken something even deeper in Sam.  It had broken something in Dean and when Dean had closed the distance between then, pressed his lips to Sam’s, he’d known it and taken it anyway.

He felt that need again, unable to hold himself together without his brother’s steadying presence.  Sam didn’t let himself react to the splash of blood that splattered over his shoes, ignored the squelch of gore he was stepping on, because Dean was waiting for him and when he’d knelt in front of Dean the night before, let Dean claim him, he’d never felt more calm or settled.  For the first time in days, he’d been able to breathe deeply and he’d slept the whole night through with Dean watching over him.

He wanted it again, but he didn’t know how to say it, how to ask.  Not when it was so fucked up.  He’d never wanted Dean before his time in the pit.  It wasn’t that Sam never knew his brother was attractive.  Everyone knew Dean was attractive and if they didn’t his brother didn’t mind filling people in on his virtues.  Of course, they might disagree about what Dean called his virtues.  Dean said he was attractive, a damn good hunter, and had a badass car.  Sam said Dean was loyal, caring, and couldn’t stand to see people hurt so he threw himself into the line of fire to protect people he never know – who would never know he did it – let alone the things he would do for the people he actually loved.  Dean was a fucking paragon of virtues but you had to look past his attitude and approach to see it.

Sam knew Dean inside and out and in the Pit Lucifer had used it against him, pushing thoughts of brotherly love into something demented and twisted.  Sam loved his brother.  Dean loved his brother.  Neither had been in love before hell decided to fuck with him and Sam knew that was where they were now.  Some fucked up half relationship that they’d never be able to leave, never be able to consummate, because choice and circumstance had played against them to make it happen in the first place.

A body fell in front of him and Sam jolted as a hand closed over his shoulder.

“Sammy?”

Sam stepped closer to Dean, needed to feel his brother’s heartbeat but didn’t dare to ask for so much.  He didn’t know what was on his face but Dean looked startled as his eyes travelled up and down the length of Sam’s body to find out why he was flinching the way he was.  A demon was coming close to him and he couldn’t tell if it was real or fake.  “Dean, please,” he whispered, moving until his body was touching his brother’s.  Dean’s fingers travelled up to Sam’s neck, bare fingers resting on Sam’s skin and Sam just closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.  “Need to leave.”

“Yeah, come on.”

They were out the back door a second later and in the open space, without so many people to tangle him up, Sam was able to calm down.  His nerves were shot and he was still jumping at loud noises as they walked down the street to where the car was parked, but Dean just kept him moving and didn’t ask why.

The drive was quick, Sam trying to regain his calm in the safety of the impala. 

“Oh Sammy, this is the place you call safe?”

Sam had to choke back a hysterical sob before Dean could hear it.  He didn’t open his eyes to see if he was successful or not.

“You drove away from Jess and left her powerless against me in this car.  Your father drove you and Dean away from your mother’s crispy corpse in this car.  You beat your brother – almost to death – against this car.  Not exactly your greatest hits is all I’m saying.”

It was true.  He’d stitched his brother up in this car, watched his father degrade Dean over its treatment, slept in it, lived in it a few times, and for a while he hated what the damn car represented; he hated all the things Dean loved about it. 

It was also true though that he had grown up in the back seat.  This car had saved his brother’s life from a woman in white, it had been safety and shelter when they’d had nothing, and the memories of that childhood had been what gave Sam the strength to hold back Lucifer long enough to jump into the Pit and save Dean.

This car had given him the chance to give Dean a life when Dean had sold his own for Sam. 

“I love this car,” Sam mumbled.

“Course you do, Sam,” Dean acknowledged the words like he was crazy for even questioning it.  “My Baby takes care of us.”

He remembered the promise of the night before, of Dean taking care of him like he did the impala and he couldn’t help but shiver.  He opened his eyes then and dared to look over at his brother.  Dean wasn’t looking at him, but he was pulling them into the motel parking lot and Sam let out a weary sigh.

There were no more words as they got out of the car and walked into the motel room.  Dean shrugged his jacket off when they were in the room and Sam sat on the edge of the bed, pulling at his boots.  He was bone tired and he wanted to sleep.  No matter that he’d had the best sleep in months the night before, the hallucinations took more out than a single night could replace.

“Get up, Sam.”

Dean’s voice brooked no disagreement and while Sam would have fought their father over that tone, Dean rarely took it with Sam so he was conditioned to responding to it.  

“Dean?”

Dean had his back to Sam but he could see Dean rolling up the sleeves of his button up until they were up to his elbow.  When he was done, Dean stood in front of the table and turned one of the chairs around.  “Strip out of your clothes and stand at attention at the foot of the bed.”

“What?”

“Now, Sam.”

Dean turned around then and sat in the chair, watching Sam with a look of expectation.   Sam knew what he’d been asking for the night before, knew what they both wanted, but he couldn’t believe that after all the struggling they’d both done with it since Dean got out of hell that it could finally be happening.  Sam wanted to step back and tell Dean no, to let him know that he knew how Alastair had twisted Dean up and how hard he’d fought it, that he knew Dean understood the same thing about himself, but Sam needed this and he didn’t have the strength to keep fighting it.

Maybe it was inevitable.  Maybe it was the shitty hand they’d been dealt.  It didn’t matter anymore because Sam and Dean had each other and if they could find a little bit of peace together Sam was ready to give his brother everything.   

He stripped out of his shirt, folding it with the efficiency that he knew Dean would expect of him.  His undershirt followed quickly with his jeans.  He left them folded in a pile on the floor by his boots.  He pulled off his socks and stopped to look at his brother.  Dean quirked a brow and Sam pulled his boxers off too.  When he was done he moved to the foot of the bed, centered and pulling his eyes forward, body at attention. 

Dean didn’t move at first and Sam forced himself not to look at his brother.  Whatever was going on in Dean’s head he had to let him take the lead.  Sam was hanging on by a thread and right now it was Dean and Dean alone that was keeping him from losing it completely.

For a few minutes there was nothing, only the sound of their breathing.  Then the chair creaked and Dean pushed off it, standing in front of Sam.  Sam felt vulnerable, exposed as he stood in front of a fully clothed Dean while Sam was bare.  It was too close to the truth of their lives; Dean always the calm collected one while Sam was raging and railing against whatever they were doing.  Dean accepted and learned to make things a part of himself while Sam could only fight against it until he was forced to his knees in submission.

“Mine,” Dean said as he moved around Sam, pushing him forward as he tried to walk behind Sam.  Sam stumbled and it was Dean’s hands on his stomach that stilled him, steadying him right before he smacked his abs hard.  “I told you last night that you’re mine, Sam.  There is no space for Lucifer and I both in there so you get him the fuck out.”  Dean slapped Sam’s thigh and Sam gasped, more surprised than hurt by the contact though Dean wasn’t being gentle by any means.  “This is mine.”

He started walking around Sam again and when Dean slapped his lower back Sam stood up taller, bringing himself to his full height.  A smack to his shoulder had his pressing them back until his posture was at perfect attention.  His hands were clasped behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, the way their father had taught them.  It wasn’t fair that Sam had his hands behind his back but every time he tried to cover his hardening cock, Dean slapped his hands away.  Sam gave it one last try, an attempt to be modest and to keep Dean from seeing just how his attention was affecting Sam.

Sam had never been into something like this.  Sam was normally possessive about the people he loved and his passion tended to burn hard and fast, but Dean claiming his was something else entirely.  It felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for each moment where Dean’s callused hands stung against his skin. 

“Dean,” he choked out his brother’s name as he tried to cover himself.  Instead of slapping his hands away this time though, Dean pushed Sam backwards.  Sam stumbled at the unexpectedness of it and he fell back as his knees hit the edge of the bed. 

Dean was on top of him before Sam could do more than catch himself on the scratchy blankets.  “If I want to see what’s mine, I will,” he said, wrapping his fingers around Sam’s cock.  Sam moaned and shifted his hips up into Dean’s grasp, but Dean moved, his knees between Sam’s thighs, digging into the flesh to make him spread his legs further.  He couldn’t move the way Dean had him positioned and Dean’s other hand had Sam’s wristed pinned over his head, his weight leaning against them as his other hand began to slowly stroke him. 

“Tell me what you need, Sammy.”  It was an order, hard and fast and he had no chance of disobeying. 

“Please, I can’t… I’m falling apart … I can’t tell…”

“Shhhh,” Dean stroked him harder and Sam moaned.  “You don’t get to do this Sam.  You don’t get to fall apart now.  I need you so fucking pull it together,” Dean growled as he released Sam’s cock.  He smacked it twice and Sam thought he was going to come just from that.  He was so fucking worked up and Dean was riding his kinks like he was at the rodeo. 

“On your stomach,” Dean said, twisting up and away.  Before Sam could get past the implications, Dean’s hands were on him, flipping him over so that his ass was in the air for his brother. 

Cold, wet fingers pressed at his hole, too much too fast but Sam was fucking keening for it anyway.  They’d never done this before – hell he didn’t know if Dean had ever been with a man before , ever wanted another – but he was opening Sam up quick and fast and Sam just wanted to get fucked, to forget everything but his brother and this thing between them that twisted and burned in all the right _wrong_ ways.  He wanted Dean to possess him and own him, to take away the burdens he felt and to know that above everything else, Dean craved him, cared for him above everything else.  It was that thought and that thought alone that was pulling him together tonight.  The thought of failing his brother, of ever being less than what Dean needed, was untenable. 

There was no warning when Dean pressed up against him except the soft slick of a zipper being lowered and the rustle of fabric where Dean pushed his jeans open enough to get himself out.  Dean’s cock pressed up under his balls while he continued to finger Sam open.  Then his fingers were gone though and it was the blunt press of Dean’s cock against his hole.  Sam let out a deep breath, tried to bury his head in the sheets, but Dean’s hand was in his hair, pulling his head back and Sam was up on all fours as Dean draped himself over Sam’s back.  Dean’s jeans chafed at the back of Sam’s thighs, the press of the buttons from Dean’s over shirt pressed into his skin, but Dean’s cock was bare as it slid into his body.  It burned and Sam could feel the rest of his body tensing as he tried not to clench around Dean.  Dean’s voice was a soothing hush over the roar of his blood and then Dean was fully sheathed, his warm, moist breath against Sam’s neck.

“Sammy,” Dean sounded broken and Sam knew it was because he was.  Too much, too young and Dean had never been given the chance to sit the burden down.  Dean had never been given a choice in his life but he had this choice and he was taking it.  Sam kept himself still for Dean, waiting for his brother’s next demand, waiting because he would be worthy of Dean.

“Fuck,” Dean said as he rocked back onto his heels, taking Sam’s hips in his hands as he began fucking him.  It was brutal and once Dean found Sam’s prostate he hit it mercilessly as Sam squirmed under him, trying to get some sort of release.      

“You wanna come, Sammy?” Dean asked as he pulled Sam backwards, dragging him deeper onto his cock and up until his back was pressed to Dean’s chest. 

“Dean, please,” he wasn’t even sure what he was begging for.  To get off?  For Dean to tell him it was okay?  For Dean to stop asking and just do what he thought was right?

“Fuck yourself on my cock, Sammy.  Fuck yourself good and come on my cock.”

Sam threw his head back and Dean had one hand on his inner thigh while the other wrapped around Sam’s throat and pressed.  It wasn’t enough to cut off his air flow, but the idea that Dean _could, that_ his brother was strong enough and could manhandle Sam and _could_ force Sam down face first, fuck the hell out of him, and choke the breath from him, made him come without warning.  Dean hands clenched at the unexpected pressure around his cock and Sam could feel Dean’s hips pumping into him.  He pushed Sam face first onto the mattress but Sam tried to angle his ass up to give Dean better access as he fucked Sam hard. 

A minute later, Dean’s hips stuttered to a halt and he rolled his hips up, cock twitching as he filled Sam up. 

He took a deep breath as Dean’s weight settled over him, Dean’s forearms settling on either side of Sam as he rested his forehead on the back of Sam’s neck.  “Alright, Sammy?”

He knew the answer already but Sam nodded anyway. 

“Mine, Sammy.  No one else’s.  I claimed you so tell Lucifer to fuck off.  You beat him before the pit, now you gotta beat him inside your head.  I won’t let you fall alone again Sam so if you go down, it’s the two of us.”

“Dean-”

“You won’t let me down Sam, I know.”

Dean pulled back then, slowly, gently pulling out of Sam’s body.  Sam missed his heat immediately but when Dean came back he cleaned Sam up before he sat at the edge of the bed and began stripped his boots off.  Sam watched every movement until Dean was standing beside the bed in his full glory.

When Dean looked down at him, Sam scooted over until Dean’s could lie on the bed.  After a moment, Sam curled himself into Dean again the way he had the night before.  Before he fell asleep, he felt his brother’s fingers twined in his hair and felt his brother relax more and more as Sam fell deeper and deeper into dreams.

  


**_“The man visited by ecstasies and visions, who takes dreams for realities is an enthusiast; the man who supports his madness with murder is a fanatic.”_ **

  * **_Voltaire_**



“Hotch, I’ve got something.”

David Rossi wasn’t normally the excitable type.  He liked to smile, enjoyed his life, and tried to keep a calm, cool presence about him.  This was different though.

“What is it?” Hotch asked as he turned his head, still standing in front of the victim boards.  Something was off about the whole damn case and had been causing problems left and right for the profilers.  Rossi knew what it was now and he had never been happier or sadder about putting together the pieces.

“I know who’s behind all this.”

“You do?” That got him all of Hotch’s attention as the profiler turned fully to look at him.  There was nothing new in the case at the moment so the others had all gone to get something to eat, promising to bring something back to the two men who’d been left behind to man the desk if something new came in.

“I have a guy who keeps an eye out for certain circumstances and lets me know when something pops us.”

“Something like…”

“Signatures or distinct parameters from unsolved cases I worked.”

“Something came up?”

“I had a case years ago, never caught the killer, but I came across his work a few times over the years.  His signature varied, he never stayed in the same area long, and he left a string of victims who believed that he had come into their lives to help them while he’d just killed their loved ones.  One thing that followed him though were a series of grave desecrations.  He never left behind much evidence but he always dug up a few graves, poured salt into them, and burned the bodies.  I got a call that it’s happening here.  The two victims who have been buried were both desecrated last night.”

Before Hotch could answer a young police officer came into the room.  “Agents?  We just got word.  Another body.”  He handed the information they had over to Hotch who pulled out his phone.

“Morgan, we have a new body.  I’ll text you the address.  Meet me there.  Have Prentiss come back to the station.  She’s going to work on a lead with Rossi.”

Rossi smiled as he waited for Hotch to finish the call.  He started to type the address into his phone before he looked up at Rossi.  “Prentiss will help you get fresh eyes on it.  Follow it as far as you can, but don’t lose sight of our current victims.”

“I know this is him, Hotch.  I met John Winchester years ago and he slipped between my fingers.  Hell, he helped me on a case and I didn’t realize he’d duped me.  I know him and I know what he’s capable of.  This stinks of him.”

Hotch nodded.  “Make sure the team gets his photo.  Keep me updated.”

“Of course.”

And Rossi was dismissed as Hotch left to go to the new crime scene.  Rossi sat down at the table, waiting for Prentiss and pulled up his laptop to find the picture he kept of the suspect.  It was old and grainy and showed a group of men from across the branches of the military, together to celebrate before being sent home.  It had been years since he’d last seen John Winchester face to face, but Rossi felt a sense of relief that he would finally be able to put both their demons to rest.

**

“So why are we at a graveyard?” Prentiss asked. 

Rossi watched her walking carefully through the grass and sighed.  He wished he’d had his files but he still hadn’t gotten around to putting all the personal information he’d collected on the case into the computer.  If he had she’d already know.  Something else on the list of things to do in the near future. 

“I’m trying to understand how a man can come here, dig up two bodies, burn them, and still get away with it.”

Prentiss nodded.  “Why does he do it?”

They were at the grave site but there was nothing but scorched dirt.  Rossi tried to picture it in the dead of the night, a lone man digging with nothing to disturb him. 

“He believes that the people he kills are evil.  He pours salt over their bones and burns the bodies to purify them and keep them from coming back to haunt him.”

“Wow.  How does that happen to someone, Rossi?” she asked.  “How do you go from productive member of society with a wife and two kids and turn into this?”

He’d walked her through the highlights of John Winchester’s crimes, including how it all started with his own wife.  “I don’t know.  He seemed to have a clear head, the kind of guy that looked like he could bounce back from just about anything.  When I saw him, years later, he had this intensity about him, but I just took it for professional pride in his P.I. business. Now, I know the obsessive nature of the man and I understand what I was seeing.”

“We’ll catch him, Rossi.”  Prentiss assured him.

Rossi gave her a small smile because while he appreciated the confidence she didn’t know just how hard it was to catch Winchester.  “I can deal with the fact that this man has been able to get away with it for so long but I’ve never been able to forgive myself for losing his sons.”

“What happened?”

“I was working one of his murders and two young boys were brought into the station by CPS.  I knew who they were so I took them and questioned them.  The youngest, Sam, couldn’t have been more than 11, and he looked up to his big brother to make everything right.  They lived off the grid, moving constantly from one place to another.  Their only real guide to how to socialize was their father who raised them to think demons walked the world and had to be put down.  I wanted to see if the bodies would bother the oldest so I had an officer take the youngest to get a soda.  Neither boy liked being separated but there wasn’t much they could do.  This 15 year old boy looks up at me, dead serious, and says “if anything happens to him, it’s on your head.”  I knew he meant it and I knew without a doubt then that I was looking into the next generation of killer.”

“You showed him the victims?”

“I did.  Along with a journal I’d found in the hotel room they’d been taken from.  Dean watched the board for a while, never admitted to anything, but there was no surprise in anything I was showing him.  A few minutes later the fire alarm went off.  The kid goes running out of the room before I can grab him, screaming his brother’s name.  In the chaos I lost sight of him.  He never came out and neither did his brother and somehow Dean stole the damn journal right from under my nose.  Sam told the cop he needed to use the bathroom and used the time to create a diversion so that they could escape.  11 and 15 years old and they escaped from the police station because that’s how John Winchester taught them to live.  11 and 15 and they were so dependent on one another that they couldn’t trust the police to keep them safe, they only trusted each other.  As much as I want to stop John Winchester, what I can never forget is the look on his son’s faces when I separated them and the knowledge that these boys were being raised to take over Winchester’s legacy of blood.”

“How has he escaped all these years?”

“He changes his M.O.  He changes his signature.  Most of the files I have come to me because of the trail of fraudulent credit cards he uses under various aliases.  When questioned there is normally someone, either a family member or friend of the victim who eventually confesses that Winchester told them he was a hunter of the supernatural and offers an explanation for what happened to their loved one.  The man is so damn charismatic that they believed him.”

“And his sons?  Where are they now?”

“His youngest went to Stanford to be a lawyer.  I thought for a while they both might have broken away, but when I last checked on Sam I found out that his girlfriend had been killed and he’d disappeared.  I don’t know if Sam did it himself, or maybe his brother did to get Sam back, but his girlfriend was burnt to death in the bedroom they shared.  John Winchester’s first victim was Sam and Dean’s mother.  She was burnt alive in Sam’s nursery when Dean was 4 years old.  From the reports that I’ve put together over the years, Winchester set his wife on fire, brought his 6 month old infant out and handed him to his brother, and sent them to the front yard so that Winchester could watch his wife die.”

“Jesus, Rossi.”

“What does that do to a child?” Rossi asked quietly.  It had haunted him for years, far more than any ghost Winchester thought he was killing.  “What does it do to you, to be told to carry your baby brother from a fire so your father can watch your mother burn?”

 

 

**_“And yet to every bad, there is a worse.”_ **

  * **_Hardy_**



“What the hell is that?”

Dean wasn’t sure what Sam had in his hands but he knew it wasn’t something that should be there.  Which made it exactly what they were looking for. 

“Feathers.  It’s a feather mantle.”  When Dean stared at him for a moment Sam shook his head.  “Like a veil or shaw.  I was looking into the feathers and there was something…”

Dean could see Sam looking around in that brain of his, trying to pull out the information they needed.  Nothing about this case had been easy.  It was bad enough when a case was cut and dry and you knew what you were dealing with but this one they still didn’t have a handle on.  There wasn’t a direct link in any of the research they’d done to feathers and the moon so they’d ended up leaving the moon out of their research.  It was all happening around a full moon, but it could just be a personal preference or that the monster hadn’t cared what the moon was like and it was a coincidence.  Neither of them liked that explanation but they didn’t have anything to go on and they didn’t like to make assumptions that would lead them astray later.

“What the hell is a feather mantle doing out here?”

They were following a lead that was stupid at best.  Listening to police scanners though, they’d heard about a missing person who matched the description the FBI had put out of the victims the killer chose.  In that, at least, Sam and Dean agreed with the FBI.  When police found the guys car in a deserted area on the outskirts of town, Sam and Dean went to investigate.  The FBI would show up eventually which made Dean nervous but he knew they could manage.

His dreams were still plagued with the sense of foreboding but they’d lost the intensity they had and Dean knew it was because what was happening was too close.  He couldn’t worry about that though, not on a hunt with Sam holding it together on nothing but Dean’s words.    Damn, it was all a mess but he couldn’t help but admit that he slept better with Sam in his bed than he ever had before.  He felt better knowing that Sam was his, that he’d put a claim on his brother inside and out, like any creature that stood before Sam would know they had to go through Dean to hurt Sam.  It was fucked up in all sorts of ways but Dean refused to dwell on it.  He didn’t have the time or energy to figure out how to stop something so messed up that held them together and gave them the first real sense of peace either of them had felt in years.

“There was something,” Sam said softly, still holding the feathers in his hand. 

A scream ripped through the night and they both ran, feathers dropped in their haste to save the next victim.

**

“So the victim drives himself to the middle of nowhere, gets out of the car, and leaves with his captor?” Reid said as they walked around the car.

“There’s no sign of another car up here,” Morgan answered.  “If there was another vehicle stashed up here they walked to it.”

“What makes a man get out of a car like that with no struggle?” JJ asked.

“He was drugged?  Held at gun point?” Rossi offered.

“He thought he was getting laid,” Prentiss added.

“We need to search these woods,” Hotch interjected.  “We can assume they walked to another vehicle so let’s find it.  We’ll have the police set up road blocks in case they’ve already left the area.”

**

Dean cursed as he stopped, looking around him.  He and Sam had tried to find the source of the scream but they’d been separated when the scream took on a feminine voice, something ethereal and lofty that made Dean’s skin itch. 

He felt wild and reckless in the woods and even more so without Sam at his side.  His need to find his brother – to make sure Lucifer wasn’t putting in an appearance – was overwhelming but this was a hunt and he had to kill the creature first.

“Oh Dean,” the voice was soft and sweet and Dean jerked around to come face to face with a pale, thin young woman.  She wasn’t human.  She wasn’t substantial enough, like you would walk right through her if you tried to touch.  She was smiling at him and it was anything but sweet.  “Did you lose him already?  I thought it was what you did, protecting your brother?”

“What have you done with him?” Dean demanded. 

“Me?”  She laughed.  “Nothing.  He’s not the one I’m interested in.”

She came closer and put an arm on his and he wanted to shrug back but he felt compelled to stay where he was.  “Why?’ Dean asked then.  “Why are you killing them?”

Her face turned into a swarm of emotions and none of them was less than homicidal.  “Do you know what I am?” she demanded.

It was in the back of his head, something Sam had said.  He could almost hear his brother talking to him about what he’d found.

“Tennin,” he finally barked out.  It fit except the part where she was killing people of course, but that was par for the course in their line of work. 

Her smile was back then as she raised a hand to Dean’s face.  He closed his eyes against his will and felt the brush of feathers.  “You’re an aerial spirit, a dancer.  It was your hagoromo that we found earlier.”

“Your brother touched it Dean, and when he did I could feel him.  I could see how much he loved you Dean, how strong the bond between you is.  And yet, all that devotion to him and you’ve spent years chasing women instead of loving him the way you should.”

“He’s my brother,” Dean used it as a defense but against the supernatural, human morals were feeble excuses. 

Her hand swept over his arm, leaving another phantom trail of feathers over his skin.  “Would you dance for me, Dean?” she asked.

He wanted to say no, wanted to step back and find Sam, to get clear of all this, but when her hand came up under his shirt and rested against his heart, Dean couldn’t say no to her.  He felt his hips start to move with hers as she pulled her body closer to him.  “Your Sam is so very faithful to you, Dean.  What would he say if he saw you with me here?  What would he say if you commanded him to stay and watch?  Would he watch you make love to me, Dean?  Would your word mean so much to him that he watched his own heart break?”

  


**_“Some of us think holding on makes us strong, but sometimes it is letting go.”_ **

  * **_Hess_**



There’s music in his head and it was soft and sad, filled with a longing of the repressed.  Dean knew that feeling intimately and it felt right to lean in, bury his head in her hair even as he thought of his brother.  He didn’t know how to handle this thing with Sam.  Sam needed him in ways that he hadn’t since he was just a child.  It shouldn’t make Dean feel good to have that but it did and he didn’t want to think about what sort of person that made him that he was getting off on having control of Sam like that.  Sam deserved better than the life Dean could give him. 

Dean thought he’d gotten past this; the fear that Sam would leave him.  In the last few years Dean knew that Sam was back for good.  They’d been through too much to turn back and they had been working to undo the stupid things they’d done together.  He should have known that it would never work out, not when they managed to wreck a path of destruction wherever they went in the world.

Sam had been holding himself together for Dean, but would he have needed to, if it weren’t for Dean?  They all liked to blame Sam for starting the apocalypse by killing Lilith, but she was the last seal, not the first one and who had opened that door? Dean had, by willingly agreeing to torture other souls in hell.  His selfishness had caused a chain of events that had set off the apocalypse.  Without that, Lucifer would never have been set free and his brother would never have had to say yes to becoming his vessel.  He would never have jumped in the pit to save the world and he would never have had to live a soulless year without Dean to look out for him.  He’d never have to live with hallucinations of Lucifer and demons and a brother who said things Dean would never say. 

He pulled the tennin tighter, unable to stop himself.  His mind was filled with recriminations and the only thing that kept him from being frozen with self-hatred was the way she moved against him, filling him with longing and regret and the need to make it all up to Sam.

“There is no making it better, Dean,” she whispered into his ear.  He felt a sob rising in his throat as she said it, felt the need to deny it, but she was pressing a kiss to his lips and he was drenched in his guilt.  His father had asked Dean to take are of Sam, to protect him from all of this.  He wondered if he’d known, if he’d seen something to make him realize just what Dean was doing to his brother, and was trying to tell Dean then that his brother would be better off dead than tied to him.  That Sam would have been better dead at Dean’s hand than having to live this horrifying life of Lucifer’s illusions and Dean’s dominating control. 

He sobbed at the thought, threw his head back and screamed when he felt claws rip into his arm but he didn’t back away or try to stop it.  It wasn’t Sam that John should have said to kill and Dean had the power to make it happen now, to free his brother, and all he had to do was keep dancing.

  


**_“Nothing is permanent in this wicked world.  Not even our troubles.”_ **

  * **_Charles Chaplin_**



The screams penetrated the dark woods and Rossi ran towards them.  He knew the others were there with him, coming to back him up as he and JJ fled into the mayhem.  When he got clear of the trees and found himself in a small clearing he pulled his gun and held it ready as he stepped into the opening.  JJ was at his side, another calm, collected person to counter whatever madness was about to get thrown at them.

“Let him go!”

Rossi’s head jerked up at the command from the clearing but an almost inhuman scream echoed through the canopy.  Rossi went into the clearing first with JJ at his back.

“FBI! Put your weapons down.”

There were two men in the clearing, one with a gun and one with a bloody arm.  A girl was in between them but with Rossi’s appearance she didn’t even look back at them, her focus was on the man with the gun.

“Get away from my brother, you bitch!”  The armed man said. 

Other people broke into the clearing, the rest of the team, but the armed man didn’t look at their either.  He had his gun raised , steady and sure, trained on the woman in front of him. 

The other guy swayed on his feet, blood loss taking its toll.  When he lurched forward to catch himself, he was leaning against the girl, his face tilted towards Rossi.  It took a few minutes but he knew that face. 

“Dean Winchester,” he thought it was a whisper but the man opened his eyes and looked straight at Rossi.  It didn’t take anything to know who he was dealing with now.  “Where is your father, Dean?  Is he out digging up another grave for you tonight?”

Dean winced and that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.  He remembered the kid to be brash and loud.  He filled the space with his presence and he dominated the room by sheer personality.  This wasn’t the same man. 

“Dean, come on man, come back to me.  You made a promise.  Don’t you dare back out on it now.”

“Such a pretty claim too,” the girl spoke finally.

It seemed to be enough to break everyone out of their silence.  Dean stood up then, shaking his head as if he’d been confused.  When he looked up at his brother, he stood taller, stronger somehow.  He took a step away from the woman at the same time Morgan took a step closer.  “Hey, come on.  Let’s take this conversation somewhere else.  No need for violence tonight,” Morgan said, putting his gun away to show her he had no weapon in hand. 

“No!” Sam Winchester screamed as the woman darted forward, throwing Morgan across the clearing.  It was humanly impossible but he watched as Morgan hit the ground, crumpling completely.  Reid and Prentiss were running to his side and as Rossi looked back, he realized the woman was running, with both Winchesters and Hotch following after her.

“Stay with him!” Rossi yelled back at Reid and Prentiss but he didn’t bother waiting for an answer as he ran with JJ after Hotch, the Winchesters, and the girl. 

**

Morgan felt his head pound, but he knew it wasn’t anything more serious than a beating and he’d had more than a few over the years.  He recognized the woman and he knew she wasn’t a victim in all this.  If he’d had a doubt when he’d stepped into the clearing, he didn’t when her eyes fixed on him, her gaze feral and terrifying.

“Come on, Derek, we need to get you out of here,” Emily said.

He shook his head, trying to get up onto his own feet.  “I’m good.  Go help Hotch.”

“Derek-”

He pulled his gun instead of letting her finish what she was about to say.  “I’m going to help Hotch so stay by me or not, I’m heading in not out.”

Reid seemed to know he meant it because he pulled his gun out and nodded.  Emily sighed, like there was ever a chance he’d have changed his mind.  “Alright, let’s go.”

They followed with him in the general area that Hotch and Rossi had taken off after her, but there was something calling to Derek in the woods, something that made him want to turn around and run the other way.  It wasn’t safety – that much he knew for damn sure – but it was compelling and he knew what it was.  She was calling him.

When Emily and Reid looked one way, Morgan went another, backing away from the group and towards the woman that he knew would come for him.

He wasn’t disappointed.  A few minutes later he tripped over something white and he knew then it was hers.  The feathers were hers.  Somehow this petite woman had ripped apart all these victims, lured them out somehow just as she was luring him. 

He stood up, moved away from the feather and tried to get an idea of where he was.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she whispered into his ear, arms coming up around his shoulders from behind.  “I’m here now and I’ll make sure you want for nothing else than what I have to offer.”

Morgan turned in her arms and her smile was a promise; the truth would never hurt again and the past would stop haunting his days.

**

“Why are you doing this?”

Sam didn’t think it would work but he didn’t have a choice.  The tennin couldn’t seem to stop herself and Sam needed to get the FBI agent away from her. 

“You know what I am!” she screeched at him.

“A tennin.  The legend says that a man found your hagoromo and you couldn’t return to the stars without it.  He tricked you into dancing for him but you never forgave him.  Is that why you killed these men?  To punish him?”

She scoffed.  “He wanted more than a dance to keep his bargain, Hunter.  When he’d lain with me, he still refused though I was so sullied the stars would not want me back.  I begged and pleaded until I finally realized that I could make him do as I wanted with the dance.  I found my hagoromo and I killed him.  It’s his fault that I can never join my kin in the heavens and I will continue to hurt these men who have betrayed the trust they have been given.”

“And you think this man is like that?” Sam asked.

She smiled prettily and it was beautiful.  “His heart is as big as the sky, Sam Winchester, much like your Dean, and like your Dean, he cares not for any one of them though he plays with their affection.”

Sam wanted to snap at her because she didn’t know anything about his brother but he knew better than to get angry right now.  He needed to stay clear and focused.  “Let him go.  He hasn’t hurt you.  None of these men hurt you.”

“What about you, Sam?” she asked.  Sam felt it when Dean entered the clearing, felt her focus drawn to him and Jesus, so was Sam’s.  He wanted nothing more than to run to his brother and make sure he was alright.  There was blood still dripping down his arm even though he’d at some point during the chase torn off his shirt and used it to wrap the claw marks and slow the bleeding.

“Has he ever hurt you, Sam?” she asked again.  “Have you ever sat up at night, wondering where the man you love is?  Did he know how you ached for him, all the things you thought of doing with him since you were released?  Does he not deserve to die?”

“Not today.” 

The agent in her arms pushed her backwards, getting free of her grasp.  At the same time other agents came in, guns trained on her.  When she tried to jump at the closest again, the blast of gunfire filled the air.

“Winchester!”  Sam and Dean both turned in time to see the hagoromo thrown at Dean. Dean snatched it up and had his lighter out a second later. 

The tennin got up, saw the feathers and began screaming.  Sam’s salt rounds didn’t seem to be doing any more harm than the other bullets but the kick of the blast seemed to be slower her until finally Dean got the mantle lit.

The creature screamed, her body contorting in rage and then pain as she was trapped in her mortal form, catching fire with her hagoromo.  As she stumbled to the ground, Sam felt the area cleared of her presence and he moved to Dean’s side, trying to get a look at the gashes in his arm.

“Winchester,” a voice called out behind him.  Sam turned to find one of the FBI agents coming closer, the rest watching them closely.  “This will go away, but I’d like a word before you leave town.”

Sam looked at Dean and Dean nodded.  “Alright, we’ll see you back at the car.”

  


**_“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls.  The most massive characters are seared with scars.”_ **

  * **_Gibram_**



“Hold still.”

“I’m trying,” Dean said but it was Sam who let out a long suffering sigh. 

“You gonna talk about why you were standing there in her arms, letting her rip you apart?”

“It was a good song.”

“Dean-”

“Dean and Sam Winchester?”

Dean looked up at the man who made his way to them.  The rest of his team was there as well, but Dean could tell they were confused, waiting on this man to make it make sense for them. 

“Hotchner, right?” Dean asked.  “Samuel’s boy?  Thought you died.”  Not that anyone had said it, but when Sam Hotchner started hunting without his son and no one mentioned it he knew it had to have been bad.

“Worse, I went to college, became a lawyer and then became a profiler for the FBI.”

Sam laughed.  “Now that’s a black sheep.  I can’t imagine your father’s horror.”

Sam said it lightly but Dean was looking for any signs that Sam was uncomfortable.  He took his job of protecting Sam pretty damn seriously, always had, and Hotchner was hitting some buttons that could have – at one time – been explosive.

“Way I hear it, you can imagine it well enough.”

Sam nodded, shuffling his feet before he looked back up again.  “FBI?”

“Not all the monsters in the world are actual monsters,” Hotchner said softly. 

Dean nodded.  “I have said it before.  Demons I get.  People are crazy.”

Hotchner looked up at him when he said it, the first real smile they’d seen on his face.  “Wanna tell me what was trying to eat Agent Morgan?”

“One of the tennin.  They’re aerial spirits,” Sam said as the others came closer. 

“You’re serious with this?” Morgan asked.  Dean thought he had to be crazy to be questioning them now, but he had been thrown pretty hard.  Maybe he had a concussion. 

“You ever met a girl who could throw a grown man around like that, no matter what drug she was on?” Dean asked.

“There is a strong mythological base for creatures that-“

“Reid?”

“Yes, Derek?”

“I think we’ll wait for the lecture for the plane ride home.”

Dean tried not to smirk at the familiar sense he got from the banter but when he looked up at Hotchner the man was doing the same. 

“So, the tennin?” Hotchner asked.

“She was bound to her mortal form so long as she didn’t have her hagoromo.  When we destroyed it without it on her, she died a mortal death,” Sam said. 

“Meaning when I torched it, I torched her.”

“This is real.”

Dean looked over at the older agent and something sparked, a memory that he hadn’t thought of in years.  “I know you.”

The agent looked up and Dean smiled to Sam.  “Remember when CPS caught us in Arizona?  You were 11?  This is the agent that came in to talk to us.”

Sam frowned and nodded.  “I didn’t like him.”

Dean gave him an indulgent smiled.  “Not everyone who offers you soda was trying something.  Besides, it gave you time to pull the fire alarm.”

“So you weren’t … your father wasn’t …”

“A son of a bitch?” Hotchner added.  “Rossi, John Winchester was a bastard to everyone who knew him, no offense guys, but he was a damn fine hunter.”

“Where is he now?” Rossi asked.

Dean let out a deep breath.  No matter that it had been years ago, it still stung.  “He died a few years back.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Hotchner said.  “What got him?”

“We had a bad time with a demon.  I was hurt.  He sold his soul to save me.”

Hotchner’s eyes widened as he looked between Sam and Dean.  “I’ve heard how that goes.  Normally, no one wins.”

“Yeah, well, luck isn’t actually a lady is she?”

Hotchner gave them another smile before he dug into his jacket pocket and handed them his business card.  “You get into any trouble, give me a call.  I might be a profiler, but I’m still a good attorney.”

Sam scribbled their names on the back of one of the other man’s cards and handed it back while Dean shook hands with the agent.  “We’d love to stay but I’m sure the police will be arriving now and this is about the time we have to skip town before we’re found.”

“Any more salt and burns needed?” Hotchner asked. 

“No, we took care of it all Agent Hotchner,” Sam said.   

“Hotch,” the guy said.  “My friends call me Hotch.”

“Well, it’s been fun, but I think I need stitches.  Let’s roll, Sammy.”

Dean knew that the men and women he was leaving behind would have more questions but they had their number if anything else came up.  He had a feeling, in the not too distant future, they’d get a call from Rossi.   He’d been alright, treated Sam well when he thought they were these fucked up kids raised by a madman he was trying to stop.  It wasn’t his fault he’d never actually seen what was out there.  Hell, with the things that humans did, the sort of things profilers saw, it wasn’t a shock that they believed men and women were capable of the evil that Sam and Dean saw.

They hit the impala, Sam driving because Dean’s arm was a mess and he needed to show Sam how much he trusted him.  The hunt was over but the battle in Sam’s head wasn’t.  He didn’t know how long it would last, this peace that had come between them.  It wasn’t quiet and it wasn’t anything he’d ever expected to have with Sam, but when he reached his hand out across the back of the seat and twined his fingers in Sam’s hair, pulling slightly, Sam’s shuddered breath made Dean smile. 

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“You okay?”

He knew why Sam was asking.  It wasn’t normal for Dean to reach for him like this, to be openly affectionate, but he’d pulled away years before to give Sam his independence and later he’d pulled back even more because of what he’d really wanted to do.  Now that he could have both without giving this up, he was taking every chance he had to let Sam know just how okay he was. 

“I don’t know where we fit in, Sam.  We’re not like other people.  This life, the way we grew up, and the things we’ve done?  It’s all a part of us.  We can’t bring people into this, not and love them like we do.  We’re Winchesters.  Our love is blood, Sam.  To love us is to bleed and we both know it.  Bringing someone else in is a death sentence we can’t sign anymore.  You and me though?  There’s a hole in both of us, and when we step in together, it’s all filled up.  Soul mates, I guess.  We’ll get through these stitches, and we’ll get the hell out of dodge, and we’ll find the next hunt,and we’ll fight it and the next monster that wants to punch our clocks.  We’ll fight Lucifer in your head and we’ll fight everyone who tries to stop us Sam.  At the end of the day, we deserve a little something for ourselves.  And if it helps us both keep our sanity along the way?” Dean shrugged.  “I could do worse than spending the end of my days with you, Sammy.”

He could tell Sam was shocked by his words and Dean just smiled.  “Besides, the sex is awesome.”

“Had to-“

“Cheapen it.  Absolutely,” Dean said with a smirk.

Sam looked over at him, smiling as he drove.  The lines in his face were too deep, too many hardships in too short a time on the Earth but he was happy at that moment as he eyed Dean.  “Yeah, guess I can handle you through the end of days.”

And hell, they’d averted the apocalypse and killed the Mother of All.  It was time they got something good for themselves. 

“Idaho, Sam.”

“What?”

“Stitches tonight.  Tomorrow, we’re on the road to Idaho.”

Dean closed his eyes to rest, trusting Sam to get them there, with the image of Sam’s blinding smile and to the knowledge that he and Sam, finally, found a place to belong.

  


**_“We can easily forgive a child who’s afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light.”_ **

  * **_Plato_**



Aaron Hotchner sat on the plane, looking over the team.  He hadn’t asked them to report anything other than what they’d seen but they all knew to do it was professional suicide and Hotch wouldn’t allow them to do that.  Of them all, he worried the most about Rossi.  Dave’s vendetta against Winchester had been person because he’d met him when the man was still young and untainted by the criminal life.  To find out that the man he’d been chasing had been a man that was not at all what he thought was hard.  Hotch just hoped Dave was flexible enough to learn from it rather than break with it.

“So, how did you get involved in that, Hotch?” Morgan asked.

Of all the members of the team, Hotch felt he had the most to explain to Morgan.  Yes, he’s always known about Rossi’s slight obsession with Winchester, but Hotch had heard the rumor a few years back that he’d died on a hunt so it hadn’t really been a concern.  Morgan had been in harm’s way though and he hadn’t said anything.  It wasn’t the first time something supernatural had taken an interest in Morgan either.  Hotch wasn’t sure if it was the appeal of the physical or if it was his innate vulnerability – the trait that made him best at his job and more able to empathize with others – but more than once Hotch had pulled Morgan away from aspects of a murder investigation when he realized it was supernatural and he needed to handle it by other means.

“John Winchester wasn’t the only hunter with children.  There aren’t many.  It’s a solitary lifestyle and a dangerous one and no one should drag a child into it.”

“But you _were_ dragged into it,” Prentiss stated.

“One night, we’re sitting at home with nothing more eventful than the evening news.  The next night we’re mourning my brother’s death because a wild animal ripped his throat out.  I saw it happen though, so did my father.  It wasn’t a wild animal but a vampire.  My mom killed herself a few months later, unable to live without him and unable to live for vengeance.  My father and I hit the road and never looked back.  He raised me to the lifestyle, much the same way as John Winchester raised his boys I would guess.  It wasn’t glamorous and it wasn’t safe.  There are no benefits to that life except knowing you killed something that few people could.  It wasn’t enough for me so when I turned 18 I left for college.  My father died on a hunt a few years later.  I hadn’t talked to him in all that time.  He thought I was betraying my family and,” Hotch paused as he looked at the others.  “I was.  In that life, you don’t leave and if you do, you don’t look back.  When I collected my father’s body it was to salt and burn it so that his spirit couldn’t rise up and try to haunt the living.”

“The salt in the graveyards?” Rossi asked.

He nodded.  “Ghosts.  Victims of violence can also rise from the grave and it’s best to salt and burn the bodies to ensure they don’t.”

“Do you … after what we’ve seen…” JJ couldn’t seem to say it.

“Not when we’re here.  I have gone back to a body or two when it looked like they’d risen.  When the death is supernatural it lends itself to more risings.”

“Why is it that there is no proof of ghost sightings then?  If they’re real and you can prove it, why isn’t it ever proven scientifically?” Reid asked.

“A good majority of ghost sightings are false.  The ones that are real rarely get the kind of press that would have people there to film and film doesn’t catch them anyway.  You need special equipment.  And then you have people, real hunters, out there who don’t want the word to spread.”

“Why not?” Prentiss asked.  “Wouldn’t it make it easier for them to work without the secrecy?”

Hotch sighed.  “Perhaps, but you’ve never had to sit on this end of the conversation, explaining to someone you cared about that the safe like they’d always known was a lie.  That your house was protected because you put salt in the paint and had protective runes hidden underneath it.  You’ve never had to explain to a child that the thing that went bump in the night was real and might try to eat them.”

There was a quiet lull before Reid let out a sigh.  “You heard what she was saying about them.  About the two brothers but you didn’t react to it.  Did you know?”

Hotch shrugged.  “There have always been rumors about the Winchester brothers but it’s hard to say what is real and what isn’t.”

“Seems pretty cut and dry to me,” Rossi said.  “Even at 15 and 11 they were the world to each other.”

“Judging them by our standards is damning, more so to us than to them.  Our morals vilify them and make heroes of us which is backward.”

“Morals are completely arbitrary and dependent on the culture,” Reid added.

“Exactly and hunters live in a different culture, the Winchester brothers even more so.”

“How so?” Morgan asked. 

“Imagine you’re 4 years old and you watch your mother die in a fire.  Imagine you’re 4 and when everyone tells you that your mother died in an electrical fire, your father tells you it was a demon and that she died pinned to the ceiling above your infant brother’s bed.  Imagine you’re 4 years old and your father tells you the most important thing in the world for you to do is to protect your little brother and he continues telling you that your entire life all the while teaching you to hunt.”

“Now, imagine you were that infant.  You’re entire life you’ve been told the only ones you can trust are family.  Imagine being 9 and learning that your dad hunts evil and that your big brother does too.  Imagine being 9 and realizing that the big brother you idolize is an actual hero.  Imagine being 11 and being caught by CPS and being taken to a police station while your Dad is on a hunt.  They have your older brother and all you can do is make a diversion and hope he can get you out and keep you together because you know you aren’t safe without him.  Imagine being 12 when your brother comes home from his first hunt covered in blood and you have to stitch him together because you have the steadiest hand in the family.  Imagine leaving that life, and finding a normal one where people don’t bleed on a regular basis and you feel normal and safe, and imagine the girl you love dying, pinned over your bed before a fire erupts and tries to take you with it.  Imagine being on the road again, living a life of credit card scams and hustling for cash.”

“Imagine that.  Imagine that every person you meet is a possible threat.  Imagine that every creature you fight could take away the one person that understands you in ways that no one else could.  Imagine that every failure could follow you home and kill the people you love just to hurt you.”

“How do you love someone outside of that life?”  Hotch asked.  “How can you judge them by our morals when they have no one outside the hunting community to turn to and that community has been hit hard the past few years?”

There was silence and Rossi let out a deep breath.  “So all these years I’ve been hunting one of the good guys.”

“You were doing your job.”

“And the other things that are out there?” Morgan asked.

Hotch wasn’t sure what Morgan needed to hear but he wasn’t going to lie and give some happily ever after story.  He’d talked to Bobby Singer often over the years and when he’d realized that the Winchesters might be involved in this he’d made another call.  It just reminded him that he was a fighter and that no matter how many times things took a stab at him, he was going to keep getting back up.  But his team knew that about him, even if they hadn’t known where it came from until not.  “I believe the world is full of dips and curves and sometimes the darkness is too dark and sometimes the light is too bright, but overall it’s a crap shoot on who is winning each day.”

“So then, how do you keep going, knowing what’s really out there?” Prentiss asked.

“I remember that there is no light without darkness, no laughter without tears.  There are monsters of the Winchester kind and there are monsters of the BAU kind.  For each, there are hunters with a set of skills to catch them.”

  


**_“In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present.”_ **

  * _Francis Bacon_



 

  


	2. Diversions (A Timestamp)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rossi wasn’t a bad guy, but he didn’t know anything.
> 
> A Timestamp from Dean's POV when they were 11 and 15.

 

“Sammy, I’ll be waiting.”

Dean smiled reassuringly at Sam.  No one ever suspected an 11 year old to pull something like this though.

Agent Rossi apologized as he showed Dean pictures of a burned body.  He didn’t react, but when Rossi pulled out Dad’s journal, Dean pulled it close.  Dad would be pissed if he left it.

Almost on cue, the fire alarm went off.  He saw Sam shooting past the door to the side entrance and Dean grabbed Dad’s journal and ran.

Rossi wasn’t a bad guy, but he didn’t know anything.  Thankfully Sam was good at making diversions.

**Author's Note:**

> First, thank you to the mods of the [](http://bigbang-mixup.livejournal.com/profile)[bigbang_mixup](http://bigbang-mixup.livejournal.com/) for this challenge! And what a challenge it was! The process started with picking a soundtrack and working your way backward to a story from there. I got to work with the amazing [](http://miki-moo.livejournal.com/profile)[miki_moo](http://miki-moo.livejournal.com/) who did the mix and then chose to do the artwork for the story as well. When I originally heard the songs I thought Sam/Dean! But after watching the video of 'Pretty When You Cry' I thought Criminal Minds crossover! And she was kind enough to let me go with it :p It was a great process and you can see for yourself what an amazing artist she is. Please go to her art post and give her the love she deserves! Also, for those of you interested in this, I wrote the story based on the procession of the song list and where you see the quotes in italics is where each new song fit into the story. I hope you enjoy, and for fans of Criminal Minds, this is my first real foray into that world and I hope I didn't fumble it too much! Now, go enjoy!


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